Fit To Print

My fifteen minutes came and went
This weekend when the Fit to Print
Credential — maybe misapplied —
Was placed upon a verse that I’d
Submitted to a contest at
The Old Gray Lady. Think of that:
A published poet (more or less)!
If that’s the acme of success
For me, I’ll take it. Writing rhymes
Is how I cope with trying Times,
And there’s no cause to fear we will
Run short of raw material
As long as Casa Blanca’s where
They’re stashing Donald and his hair
Until his short attention span
Destroys us all. (I’m not a fan.)
I’m proud to take a bow (or three).
Now, back into obscurity.